


And Lovers

by fritz_winky



Series: The Companion Series [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fritz_winky/pseuds/fritz_winky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately following the events of 01x01, "Friends and Enemies."</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Do people generally find your cheekiness charming?”  Athos passes his fingers through Aramis’ hair, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips but nothing more.  He earns himself an even cheekier grin, then, without ceremony, he feels Aramis’ fingers pull and tug at his trousers.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	And Lovers

“I just would have liked a bit of warning, perhaps.”

 

“She’s the mistress of the Cardinal. Surely you must have expected at some point she’d go away. No offense, my friend, but you’re not exactly in the same social standing as his Eminence.”

 

Aramis snorts. His breath turns to white mist in the cold air, and he looks thoroughly petulant under the brim of his hat.

 

“I had been under the assumption that she and I were in love.”

 

At this, Porthos laughs, a fondly exasperated sound as he claps his friend on the back and says, “You be sure to tell that to Athos when we arrive. I’m sure he’ll be in the perfect mood to tell you all about the deceitfulness of women.”

 

Aramis can’t help but crack a smile. As Porthos rests an arm over Aramis’ shoulders, they walk in silence through the dark streets of Paris, now and then coming across a man stumbling home from the taverns or from mistresses of their own.

 

“You know,” Aramis comments, “we might actually catch him before he drinks himself into a stupor.”

 

“What? Athos? Drinking? Why, I never!” Porthos just grins at he gets a firm punch in the shoulder. They let themselves into Athos’s apartment, making their way to the bedroom where they find the third member of their little clique.

 

Athos is, predictably, drinking, but neither Aramis nor Porthos can hold it against him. He did, after all, just barely escape execution. Certainly a trying ordeal for any man. Aramis raises his eyebrows as he plucks the bottle of wine from Athos’ hand.

 

“You ought to hire a girl or two to come in and clean this place up. It smells like a drunkard’s. Not at all becoming of one of the king’s musketeers.”

 

“For once, I’m inclined to agree with Aramis.” Porthos claps Athos on the back. “We’re here to surprise you.”

 

“Surprise me with what?” Athos looks between his two friends, feeling a headache coming on, and not just from the wine. “And why?”

 

“A congratulations-you’re-still-alive party, of course.” Aramis puts his hat on the desk. “Well. Party might be a bit of an exaggeration. We’re going to express our joy at your ongoing defeat of death and also remind you how nice it is to still be breathing.”

 

“You are, the both of you, insufferable,” sighs Athos. But he stands and stretches, honestly feeling a bit pleased to see them. He had known they wouldn’t let him down, and, if it came to it, likely would have thrown themselves in front of the firing squad need be. Athos supposes that he owes them this, so he’s content enough to humour them until they’ve satisfied themselves. “But very well. I eagerly await your expressions of joy.”

 

“Good man.” Porthos flashes a toothy smile as he leans against the wall, making sure to shut the door as he does so. No one is likely to come by or interrupt, but they’ve learned it’s better to take precautions after cutting it close one too many times. “Aramis, if you would be so kind.”

 

The youngest of the three men rolls his eyes dramatically, murmuring something about his companion being lazy. Porthos lets out a bark of laughter as Aramis piles his things up, one by one, by his hat, until he’s left standing there in his shirt sleeves. He turns with a flourish to Athos and bows, then sinks to his knees on the well-worn floor.

 

“Look, Athos, the least you could do is come to me. I’m not so undignified as to crawl over to you.” Aramis sits back on his heels, holding his arms out, beckoning until Athos is near enough that Aramis can put his hands on the other man’s hips. “You know, I think I like him more when he’s been drinking. He’s much less fussy.”

 

“Do people generally find your cheekiness charming?” Athos passes his fingers through Aramis’ hair, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips but nothing more. He earns himself an even cheekier grin, then, without ceremony, he feels Aramis’ fingers pull and tug at his trousers until his rapidly stiffening cock is free and exposed. He is almost certain he hears Aramis let out an excited sort of sigh, and, to his left, he hears Porthos shift against the wall.

 

It’s nothing new to the three of them. For as long as they’d been musketeers together, it’s been this way, and before the most recent addition of Aramis, it had been Athos and Porthos. Athos heaves a sigh of his own, letting his eyes fall closed as he feels the gentle, warm breath ghost across his skin. It’s just a promise of what’s to come, a promise that the man on his knees makes good on sooner than usual.

 

“Eager,” breathes Athos. There’s laughter at the edge of his voice. It’s only times like this, when the three of them are together, when there’s nothing else to worry about, that he lets his guard down enough to tease. And Aramis is much more vulnerable to it when he’s like this. If Athos is lucky, he might even get Aramis to pout.

 

“Starving for it, he is.” Porthos’ voice has taken on a rumble characteristic of his own growing arousal. He enjoys watching almost as much as he enjoys participating. “Considering he thought he’d be getting it from Adèle Besset.”

 

The noise that comes from Aramis’ throat this time is considerably less coy. He huffs out an annoyed breath, pulling his lips away from the head of Athos’ cock that Athos nearly groans in frustration.

 

“If it’s all the same to either of you, in consideration that this is, so you’ve said, a party for me, perhaps we can cease the talk of young women, particularly those who keep the company of Richilieu.” Athos raises an eyebrow just slightly, looking between the two, and Aramis gives a curt but entirely displeased nod.

 

“I couldn’t agree more. Now, if the two of you have nothing else constructive to add to the conversation, can I get back to the matter at hand?”

 

Porthos holds up his hands, giving a slight nod and bow of his own, and Athos says nothing, so Aramis takes the silence as a term of agreement. He returns to his briefly abandoned task with much more enthusiasm. The perk, Aramis thinks, about Athos is that, while the man is nicely endowed, he is much more manageable than Porthos. It gives Aramis a perfect stage to truly show off his talents. With Athos buried almost entirely in his mouth, Aramis teases with his tongue, and Athos blushes to think that this is the same tongue he’s heard countless prayers and sentiments to God come from.

 

From his spot at the wall, Porthos admires the picture his two friends make. Athos, proud, withdrawn, muscles full of tension as he forces himself to maintain constant composure while Aramis is almost frantic in the way he attempts to make Athos lose his restraint. In truth, Aramis rarely wins, but it never deters his enthusiasm.   Porthos slips his hand into his trousers, working his thumb and fingers over himself in teasing touches, because he’s worried that, perhaps, he won’t last too long if he allows himself much more.

 

When Aramis does, at last, feel a slight shudder work its way through Athos’s body, he draws back, and the sticky wet string that catches on to his lip and follows him makes both of the other men moan. Athos motions with his wrist for Porthos to sit before sinking to the floor with Aramis. He’s quick with undressing Aramis, though, even then, there’s a slight gentleness in it, as if Athos can’t quite believe these two are his friends and can’t believe their willingness to do this for him. With Aramis dressed down to only his trousers, Athos nudges him over to Porthos.

 

Porthos is lounging in the chair by the desk, legs open as he leans back and waits patiently. When he sees Aramis kneeling between them, the two share a lewd grin, and Porthos puts his hands behind his head. He’s more than happy to watch Aramis do all the work. And Aramis is more than happy to oblige.   He works Porthos free of his breeches while he hears Athos rummaging around drawers behind him, and both Aramis and Porthos are fine with using this to occupy themselves.

 

Aramis, already worked up from his little session with Athos, wastes no time in swallowing down as much of Porthos has he can. Porthos huffs out a heavy breath through his nose, cursing, muttering about not preparing a man as he reaches to put his hands in Aramis’ hair. Behind Aramis, Porthos watches as Athos finally joins them again, a bottle in his hands that Porthos had got him once for such occasions. Athos, still dressed saved for his exposed cock, tugs Aramis’ trousers down to his knees.

 

There’s little done in the way of preparation. Athos has never been a gentle lover, sex for him not holding the same weight as it does for his two partners. But, for him, he knows Aramis needs little done. Countless nights with Porthos and unnamed men in dark corners have more than prepared him, so Athos works some of the oil into him as a courtesy more than anything. He slicks himself up and pushes in, drawing at Aramis’ hips until their bodies are flush together. The low, nearly wanton, sound that Aramis makes rumbles though Porthos’ prick and Porthos tugs a little harder on Aramis’ hair.

 

There’s no pace of rhythm between the three of them. Athos barely pulls out before he thrusts into Aramis again, Porthos tries hard to keep his hips still but occasionally he bucks them up, feeling himself brush against the back of Aramis’ throat. On the dusty floor, Aramis has already started to tremble. Porthos’ cock muffles most of his moans and whimpers, but Athos sees the tension in his shoulders, in the muscles through his back. He reaches to wrap his hand around Aramis, and it only takes a few unrefined strokes before Aramis is spilling out on to his hand and the floor.

 

As Aramis hits his release, his back concaves, and Athos thinks it’s sort of beautiful, and only Aramis of the three of them could make anything with his body so appealing to look at. The thought begins to pull Athos toward the edge. He pulls out of Aramis, using the same hurried strokes on himself until he’s shooting out into the dip of Aramis’ back and onto his shoulders.

 

Aramis feels it hit his hair, too, and makes an indignant sound. He starts to draw away from Porthos to say something, but Porthos laughs, loud and hearty, pulling Aramis to him again. He slides his hand to the back of Aramis’ head, purposely spreading the sticky mess through the dark strands of hair, then starts thrusting up into Aramis’ mouth. Aramis stays dutifully still as he lets Porthos fuck his mouth, taking quick breaths when he can, until his whimpers coax Porthos into his own climax. He spills into Aramis’ mouth, and Aramis swallows down what he can, and the rest he spits on to the floor to join his own mess.

 

The three men sit in silence for a moment, each trying to collect his own breath. Athos stands first. He pulls his trousers back up and finds something to clean up Aramis. When Aramis sits back, Porthos stands, clapping Athos on the back.

 

“See? Just what you needed, wasn’t it?” he asks, grinning. When Athos gives him a look and a vague smile, followed by a shrug, Porthos laughs and gives him another brotherly slap. “I knew it.”

 

“I see how it is,” says Aramis, at last rising to stand as well. “It must be because I’m your friend that I get even less courtesy than a prostitute once you two are finished.” He’s teasing, of course, but he’s still annoyed at the mess in his hair.

 

“Oh, right, sorry.” Porthos flips Aramis a coin, and even Athos lets out a laugh. Aramis shoots them both a look even as he pockets the coin.

 

Once Aramis is dressed, he gives both of his friends a slight bow, and adjusts his hat on his head. “Well, my friends, it has truly been an exquisite night. I, however, am going in search of a bath, and bid you both a fond adieu.”

 

He steps out of the room and Porthos watches, then hastily he grabs his own hat.

 

“And where are you off to?” Athos asks. He’s certain he already knows the answer.

 

“Well, it so happens, I’ve got a bath,” Porthos replies, a wicked grin already forming, “and it’s quite large, too. It’d be terrible of me not to let Aramis know.” He gives his own bow and leaves Athos laughing to himself as he dashes after Aramis.

 

Alone in his room, Athos shakes his head with a fond smile. He falls back on to his bed and puts his arm over his eyes, deciding he can afford a bit of a rest after all before hitting the bottle again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The companion for the first episode. I'm going to try and explore different combinations if the episode lends itself to it, but, I'll admit, I find Athos difficult to write. So we'll see how well that goes. :)


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